The spire of the Legion's headquarters gleamed with a promise I couldn't fulfill. I breathed the cleansed smell of nothing, 31st century air. My body wasn't my body, merely the trappings of an alliance draped over a field of 5D noise. The Legionnaires, my friends, my heroes, my colleagues, chatted and played, their polished chrome and silken uniforms catching the glow of the Hall of Heroes, the citadel of the most worthy members of the JLA of tomorrow. Kara Zor-L stood across from me, her statuesque, full-breasted body tight against the shell of the Supergirl costume, full hips saucily swiveling as she moved. My friend, my confidant, my lover, in this new life. But the supple breast, the full ass that curved invitingly beneath the short skirt, was already familiar, already routine.
Then I spotted the ice and steel: Imra Ardeen. Saturn Girl was standing by a viewport showing the great Orion Nebula, an ice-sculpture with a grim jawline. Her lean body was tightly clad in the Legion uniform. She had smaller, more compact breasts than Kara, perked up beneath the material, her ass like a hard muscle. Her blonde hair was hanging down like platinum ice, her face a telepathic mask. A fortress. She was a new toy, a girl I wanted.
"Enjoying the sights, Saturn Girl?" I broke into her reverie, Clark Kent's deeper tones cutting through the background hum of activity as I walked up to her, close enough that the 5D energy crackled against her defenses like static. She didn't flinch, but her grey eyes narrowed, her eyes fixed on the nebula. "It's… big," she said slowly, her tone calm and serene. "Perspective."
I stepped into her space, the smell of ozone and the faint tang of metal lying just below her perfume. "Something big can be so lonely, can't it?" I whispered, my mouth inches from her ear. "There's just so much…emptiness. It makes you want to touch something, doesn't it? Something solid?" I placed my hand against the small of her back, feeling the tautness of the muscles beneath her uniform, the firm shape of her little ass. There was a faint hitch in her voice. "Superman…" she said, a note of reprimand creeping in.
"Don't," I said, darkly, not even trying to maintain the 'nice guy from Kansas' façade anymore. "Don't use that, Imra. Not with me." I slammed a pulse of raw Fifth-Dimensional energy into her thoughts, not as an assault, but as a transmission; the loneliness of preserving fantasy amidst an infinity of nothingness, and above all, the anguished longing memory of her sneaking peeks at my body – the broad chest filling out the 'S' shield, the defined contours of the muscles beneath the weave of my workman's pants.
"I notice the flash behind your shields," I whispered, reaching down to trace the outline of the uniform slacks over the firm globes of her little ass. "That flash when you look at me. At me, not Superman." Her shields pulsed, much more noticeably now; her knuckles whitened where she clutched the viewport railing, her tiny high breasts heaving more rapidly beneath the blue. The nebula's light catching tiny diamonds of perspiration on her temple.
"This is wrong…this is dangerous…" she whispered, but there was hardly any conviction in it; her voice trembled, fighting down a shiver.
"Which is why it's real," I whispered into the shell of her ear, fingers of my other hand creeping beneath the edge of her skirt and shirt, filling my palm with the smooth curve of one small, pressed breast – the nipple a rigid jewel – in my palm. I pressed into her, filling her mind with sensory details, with the mental scratch of my teeth along the side of her neck, the rubbing warmth of my stiff cock against her, the deliciously awful helplessness of losing control.
Her rigid posture melted, and her head lolled back against my shoulder, giving me a glimpse of her creamy neck, as she let out a muffled yelp. Her defenses didn't falter – they disappeared. A flashing hunger – a hungry animal desire – mirrored my own burst through the broken link.
"Where?" I snarled, the predator rising in me, my cock bulging in my cargo pants, full and hard in the fabric.
Imra was not saying anything. It was as if she was in agony; a rictus contorted her slight frame as she wrenched her gaze from the nebula, her grey eyes wide, the irises lost in black centers of disgust and desire.
She grabbed, long fingernails tearing through the sleeve of my Superman tee as she pulled me away from the viewport, her platinum tresses whipping her face as she turned. "Come," she said, her voice a hot, avid monosyllable in the silence between us.
I could see the clenched muscles shifting in her strong, round ass as she backed into a dark archway leading onto a private observation platform, hauling me with her. This was not Saturn Girl anymore; this was just Imra, with a naked, atavistic want.
The purple-red glare of the nebula was swamping the gallery, diffusing the shadows. I had completely shed Clark Kent by the time the heavy door was sealed behind us. Fifth-Dimensional power surged and seared, ripping my t-shirt and cargo pants like paper. Then the full anatomical truth was on display - square miles of rippled, muscle-sculpted perfection, silky-sleek complexion, and a foot-long cock rigidly standing, veins rippling with power. Imra took a step back to the hatch of one of the viewports, and her gaze went to my cock.
"No masks," I growled, moving closer. I savagely ripped open her uniform top, exposing her tight, firm breasts - little spheres topped with already-nubby little pink nipples. My other hand went downward, shredding cloth to expose her taut, athletic buttock cheeks and the glistening pink lips of her snatch below a neatly tapered triangle of platinum pubic hair. She convulsively shivered, mashing her firm ass more tightly against the cold glass.
"Look at me," I said, my fingers closing around her chin and forcing her fear-filled eyes to lock on mine. Her mouth trembled.
"You want real? Here it is." I forced my mouth over hers, my teeth sinking into her bottom lip until I tasted copper on my tongue. My hand delved between her legs, my fingers easily sliding into her wet, clenched cunny.
"You're already wet," I snarled against her lips, shoving two fingers inside her, her walls instinctively clamping down on me. "Your little fuckhole is a liar, Imra."
Her hips bucked against my hand, her clenched arse cheeks slapping against the glass. "Stop… please…" she moaned, the words lost in my mouth.
I pulled my fingers from her snatch, got them good and coated, then gripped my thick tool.
"Ask nicely," I snarled, pounding the hefty head of it into her hot snatch. Her tiny breasts jiggled, the pink nipples pinpricks against the glow of the nebula.
"Please... fuck me," Imra wheezed, lifting her small ass off the cold glass. "Harder than you've ever —"
It was my push that did it. I shoved my way into her little greasy snatch as roughly as possible, sheathing all 12 inches to the root. Her tight little slit was milking at my cock like a cock ring, her little rose lips distended around my girth.
"Ah shit!" she moaned, her little butt clenching on the glass as I grabbed her hips to steady her. The window creaked in protest with each stroke.
"Yes! Dig my guts out!" Her little smooth thighs were trembling, her rigid flesh quivering as I pounded with no mercy, nibbling at her neck and shoulder as she flailed with her nails, gouging troughs out of my back.
Now Imra's climax hit. Her body shook with such violent contractions that her tight buttocks lifted all the way off the viewport, her vagina wildly clenching and unclenching on my shaft. The white liquid ran down her legs.
"Oh, don't stop!" she implored hoarsely. I turned her around so her perspiring abdomen was banging on the nebulalit, her small firm breasts mashed flat against the glass. Her hard nipples bulged further.
"Shut up," I muttered, holding her firm hips against the glass. The clenched ring of her anus peeked out from between her distended pink labia. Without giving her a chance to adjust, I lunged back into her reeking depths once more. She shrieked as I pumped away into the buzzing glass.
Her need was animal, feral. With each thrust she clenched her ass cheeks against my hip, the sound of slapping out of proportion to her moans. The muscles inside her churned against my dick, leaking moisture on my nuts.
"Feel it," I snarled, nipping at the back of her neck. "Feel how small you are compared to me."
She shook all the harder, her muscles clenched. "Please… more." she sobbed, tearing the words to pieces. Her clenched little asshole beat in time with her pulse, glowing in the light of the nebula, a tight little pink pucker begging to be stroked.
She comes again, harder this time. Imra screams as she grinds her little breasts against the viewport, her nipple stiff points of agony-pleasure. She comes on the glass below her.
"Inside!" she cries, trying to lift her hips. "Fill me!" I stroke into her, rubbing the sensitive knot of my cockhead against the mouth of her womb as I pour thick gouts of jizz into her convulsing snatch.
She trembles, her small, firm ass shaking as my heat pours into her. "Mine," I grind, pulling back slowly to watch my cream leak from her swollen pink folds and down her trembling thighs.
I flip her over. Her gray eyes are glassy, unfocused. "Lick it clean," I tell her, roughly shoving her face into my greasy, half-deflated cock. "Every drop."
With a shaking hand, Imra takes my cock in her hand, her tongue tracing hesitantly over the thick ridges of the veins. Her soft pink lips purse around my cockhead, she sucks weakly.
"Harder," I growl, tangling my fingers in her platinum hair. She increases her suction, taking me deeper, choking as she gobbles my cum and her own juices. Her firm little ass clenches rhythmically as she serves me, under the colored glow of the nebula.
Her tiny breasts bob against my leg. "Good girl," I growl, watching her throat work. She moans around my cock, her small pink nipples puckering tightly as they catch in the creases of my thigh. Her little buttock cheeks clench as she kneels for me, naked.
"Swallow," I command, stroking further into her mouth. She does, her little throat muscles rippling around the head of my cock. Milky trickles leak from the corners of her puffed lips.
The red glow of the nebula etches itself into her abused body in lurid welts--the purple bite-marks on her neck, the shine of my cum on her thighflesh. Her tiny high breasts are streaked with faint scratches where my fingernails did work.
"Look at yourself," I command, pulling her off my cock with a wet pop. Her grey eyes snap open to the sight of herself in the viewport: uniform rumpled up around her waist, her pink snatch swollen and shining, her clenched little ass straining beneath her purpled buttock cheeks.
"This is what you needed," I tell her, my voice emotionless. Her trembling finger traces a bite-mark. "I...I feel..." she stammers.
A mental shriek stands out in my mind--a strained, desperate cry: Lightning Lad's mind-scream. "Imra? Where are you--"
The borrowed conscience of Clark Kent glows with a faint, dying light. My conscience twists within me, heavy and sick. He loves her, the shade of Clark reminds me. For a moment, my confidence as a Fifth-Dimensional imp wavers. The taste of Imra's blood seems bitter on my lips.
Then cosmic rationale clicked back into place, like a tightening vice. "Collateral damage," I whispered, noticing Imra recoil from the scratchiness of my voice. Her hard, little clit trembled subtly in the unstable starlight, her flower-colored nipples still stickingly aroused.
"He was always just... static." The sense of guilt evaporated. It was too late now to go back; her tiny pink snatch was still gaping and smeared with my cum on the very, very waxed floor, her cute little bottom battered and marked with the indentation of my hand. Lightning Lad was just a dead fish. She was irreversibly different now.
I pulled out, Fifth-Dimensional energies swirling around me. Clark Kent's outfit gathered on my body like a thought, the blue material spilling over my athletic physique, the red cape spreading out across my back. Superman's cowl snapped shut once more, sleek and unbroken. Imra stared up at me as I stood, her grey eyes beautiful pools of stunned bewilderment amidst the tatters of her uniform and her dignity. Little white trickles of our combined fluids glistened on her chin.
"Are you alright?" I asked, my voice once again Clark's mellow baritone, hopelessly at odds with the destruction surrounding her.
"Alrigtht?" Imra spat, her voice rasping. Her shaking hands instinctively reached to rub the scratches across her small, firm tits, down to her puffed-up pink lips, sticky with my withdrawing semen. The little mounds of her buttocks clenched against the chill stone.
"You... you ruined me." A single tear cut through the caked sweat on her cheek. "Garth... he felt something was wrong."
I was crouched beside her, Superman's cape trailing, the red smeared over the gleam of the floor. My fingers, Superman's fingers, grasping her chin, tender but firm. "He felt betrayed,"
I growled, Clark Kent's voice rough, almost a whisper. "But you, Imra." My thumb stroked her lower lip, smearing trails of semen. "...that tearing of your mental defenses? That wasn't betrayal. That was fact."
Her gray eyes widened, pupils still dilated with lingering shock and something harder, deeper. "Fact?" she whispered, her rose-tipped breasts hardening visibly under the tattered remnants of her uniform.
"The fact Lightning Lad didn't get near," I breathed, edging nearer. My other hand drew a line around the curves of her tiny, hard breast, tracing across the stiff nipple. Her cleft folds were pinched shut and glistening with juice, her parted lips puffy, my cum still trickling out of her. Her small buttocks shivered against the floor's coolness. "I didn't know about him," I said, Clark's sincerity oozing into my voice—half of it sincere. "But it doesn't matter. Look at you." I pointed at her broken appearance—the faint claw marks on the back of her neck, the faint scratch marks on her flat belly, the mucky sogginess between her legs. "Could he make you feel so… alive?"
I felt a gasp rise to Imra's lips. Her grey eyes flared – a mix of fear and the dreadful, blasphemous excitement still pumping in her system. She gazed down at herself – her ripped dress, trembling thighs, the tender, clenched ring of her asshole, the blood welted flesh it stretched over.
"He… he treats me with care," she whispered, her words muffled by sobs. "He makes me feel safe." She ran a trembling hand over her swollen clitoris, glistening with evidence of what we'd done. "That was not safe."
"Had to," I said, Clark's soothing tones masking the Fifth-Dimensional truth. I circled the rising bruise I was leaving on her shoulder. "Tenderness is a trap, Imra. You nipped the steel." Her small, pert breasts shuddered as she filled her lungs. Further down, the cleft of her rosy nipples pulsed in the open, still sticky with my semen. "Necessary?" Her words burst out in a ragged laugh. "To ruin me?"
"To wake you," I said, stepping closer. I ran my hand down the rigid muscles of her abdomen, over the fingernail marks I had left, lower to the carefully barbered blond pubic hair. When I pressed the wounded clitoris, she flinched.
"Pay attention to your body. Your tiny twat still hurts. Your anus clenches like a fist." Her small buttocks clenched against the chill of the floor, to demonstrate. "Lightning Lad brought you protection. I brought you need. Which one makes you feel more alive?"
Imra's grey eyes locked onto mine, the fear melting into something uglier, something meaner: resignation. Her trembling hands came up, tracing the S-shield emblazoned on my chest.
"I… I feel it," she whispered, her voice tight. "This emptiness… and how it only comes alive with you." She hunched her hips, allowing my fingers to plunge further into her moist slit. Her rosy nipples pressed even harder against the ripped material. "He'll never understand."
I twirled my thumb around her engorged clitoris. She squealed in surprise. "So don't let him," I breathed, the tender words of Clark to a child swaddled in the order. Her bunched butt muscles were pressed to the coolness of the ground and her stiff pink anus pulsed visibly through the nebula light.
"But how?" she squealed, her tiny breasts jiggling. "He'll see… he'll know." Her gaze darted to the finger marks on her neck.
I flicked my wrist and removed the tooth-marks from her neck, zipped up her torn uniform; Fifth-Dimensional energy repairing cloth and flesh to perfect repair. Only the slightest trembling of her hands showed what was still underneath. "He will see Saturn Girl," I whispered, running my thumb over the newly-smooth flesh where my teeth had been. "Cold... Unapproachable. As he remembers."
Imra's grey eyes went wide, relief warring with the pain, the ache of those bitten places. Her clenched tight ass pushed along the floor, her tight pink cunt still obviously puffy and wet under the restored uniform. "But inside." Imra gasped, her little breasts jutting sharply. "I am... different."
I leaned forward, Clark's slick skin warming my killer riptide. "Inside," I whispered in her ear, "you're famished." I caressed her thigh, my fingers drawing a trail down to the spot where her uniform hid her sex. Her rosy areolas hardened in an instant beneath the blue fabric.
"Taste that famine slowly. Let Lightning Lad handle Saturn Girl." I ran my fingers over her cleft in the uniform, my fingers feeling her clitoris throbbing below. "But when you close your eyes." I projected an ethereal image into her thoughts — my thick cock slamming into her, her petite buttocks bouncing against my groin. "Remember who this tight little cunt belongs to." She gasped, her thighs closing on my hand. "Yes," she wheezed.